November the Second
by Karen Hikari
Summary: "Gods, I get it, Dad is feeling special again" Jake continued. "Someone should really tell him that he should send tools rather than desserts. If you can't cook you can't cook and that's that, right?" Because, maybe, his father had always been there for him and he just hadn't known it. Leo's birthday.


**Hello everyone! I know, I've been kind of absent lately, but I've been terribly busy, I swear. Besides, I got a cold and I almost die last week (of course I'm just being a drama queen, but I was actually sick, I promise!).**

 **Anyways, I worked on this little soemthing while I was in bed and I really hope you enjoy it! ;) The original idea is totally not mine, but a firend's, yes, that friend who is always supporting me and enlarging my pendant's list, and who does not have an account here, because if he did, I'd write his name. Perhaps if you guys comment enough I might convince him of doing it.**

 **Never mind, back to the story. This, fellas, has a little Easter Egg hidden to test your knowledge about Latin festivities. If you figure out what I'm talking about before reaching the end, feel free to comment about it. I you don't, don't worry, I'll explain it in my note at the end.**

 **Well, I really hope you enjoy it! ;)**

* * *

 **November the Second**

* * *

The first time it happened, he was eight years old. His mother had been dead for little less than a year and he'd been currently staying in an orphanage for a short while after escaping the last foster home he'd been put in.

It was when he entered the room he shared with other nine children and leaned down to reach something under his bed that he noticed the strong smell of gasoline, so sudden that he almost felt dizzy with it.

He slowly turned over his right shoulder, his expression shifting from a surprised to a puzzled one. There, in the middle of the nightstand that was neatly placed next to the bed he used laid a metal plate made of what looked like bronze. Held in the middle of the eccentric silverware appeared what looked like or had a vague similarity with one of those small round cakes for only one person that the bakeries sell, with the sole exception that this piece of… whatever it was exhaled the vicious smell of burned oil. In its center, a single candle was lit.

Burrow furrowing in puzzlement, Leo straightened himself and reached out for the emulous of pastry only to regret it in the last second and stop his hands mere inches away from the item.

He searched for the other nightstands of the room, each placed next to a bed, which were distributed around the room, five on the right wall and the other half standing next to the left one, but Leo could only become more confused when he noticed that only in _his_ bedstand stood that… whatever it was.

Mentally counting, he realized that if that in fact was the parody of a cake, then it was on time—it was in fact his birthday, November the second, but he couldn't help to be more confused than before.

He himself had forgotten about it, and he had been in the orphanage for only a couple of days. No one there, especially not the other kids knew about the date or thought that it held some importance at all. Unless, maybe, if they had been in part Mexican. But they weren't.

Clicking his tongue, he forced the thought away, dismissing it as a prank played on him by the other children. Who knew, maybe he had let the date out at some point without him even realizing, it didn't really mattered.

Finally remembering he had entered the room looking for a screwdriver and not for a mystery, he leaned over to reach for his toolbox under his bed and put the matter down.

It didn't matter, really, he wouldn't stay for much time in that place anyways.

–*–*–

But maybe, maybe it mattered, he thought exactly a year later, when he found a copy of… that placed in the middle of the bed he'd been calling his for the last two months.

This time, he couldn't blame it on any other children, because he was the only one in the O'Connors' house. More puzzled than the previous time, he newly proceeded to mentally search for the date and concluded that yes, it was November the second, his birthday.

–*–*–

When he turned ten, he had been counting down the days since the previous month and this time, this one time, he was _certain_ that such a thing wouldn't happen, that no such a thing would be left in his place because not even _he_ was sure of where he'd be spending his days, let alone his nights. It was just senseless to think that something like that would happen _again_.

He was running away, for the third time. He had left the Osorios' house a week before, and ever since he'd spent his night in a lot of places, most not peaceful or clean ones.

Thus was the reason as to why he was almost flabbergasted when the second of November he woke up to find a perfectly shaped copy of that oil cake that he'd seen the last two years next to him, a few inches away from his head that laid in the sewer's floor.

And that was how he reached the conclusion that it was him and not anyone else who baked that thing or at least managed to pull it together, because it didn't even seem edible at all.

On the other side, he did have other much more urgent matters at hand than how pathetic he was and, thankfully, he was ADHD, which never allowed him to keep his mind on only one matter for too long and, meanwhile that could be frustrating most of times, it was also welcomed in a degree when he purposely didn't want to think about something in specific.

–*–*–

For his eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth birthdays, he wasn't even surprised when it happened, he almost already expected it, expect that stink of burned gasoline to be next to him as soon as he opened his eyes, waiting for him. He didn't feel amused by it anymore, and he had successfully convinced himself that it didn't matter.

The only thing that he still thought once in a while was that, if he was going to be placing that thing besides him every year while sleepwalking and if he was going to bake it or whatever it was that he did to the old pneumatic and oil, then perhaps he should actually cook real food. For once, just for a change, really.

–*–*–

On his seventeenth birthday, he really wasn't expecting anything.

In fact, he had absolutely forgotten the importance that the date held and, for once, it wasn't that he had willed the thought away, but the war against Gaea, their success against her and his near-death experience what had kept him rather busy. Plus, he was now the head counselor of Cabin 9, and the official mechanic of _both_ camps, which meant that most of times he was too occupied to even remember what day they were in, let alone which important celebrations were held the coming month or the coming week.

And so was why that November the second's morning when he woke up he didn't even spare a glance to the calendar and hurried to get himself dressed and out of his cabin for breakfast.

Fortunately, the fact that he often forgot his birthday and any other important dates wasn't contagious and as soon as he stepped outside of his cabin Piper engulfed him in a hug that almost made him lose his balance, although he was a couple of inches taller than the daughter of Aphrodite.

"Happy birthday!" she squealed as she let him go, finally allowing the hero to recognize the gesture as his friend's and not as a monster's attack.

"Is it today?" he asked sheepishly, mentally slapping himself before he tried to remember the day.

"Of course it is, dummy!" Piper replied, smiling warmly at him. "Everyone is waiting for you in the dinning pavilion, but I wanted to be the first one to congratulate you!"

' _The first one…_ ' Leo thought with the vague impression that he was missing something. And then he remembered, of course. The smell of burned gasoline hadn't hit him as soon as he'd opened his eyes. But then again, this was Cabin 9 they were talking about. _Hephaestus'_ cabin, for crying out loud, it _always_ smelled like metal and oil in there, and he'd been working till late in the night, which could have also concealed the smell that he'd become so used to.

"About that… Pipes, can you give me a second?" he asked, already trying to go over his cabin in search of the memory of whether or not if he'd seen that oiled pastry when he'd woken up.

Piper hadn't even finished uttering a confused 'Sure' before Leo had already turned around and entered the cabin again.

The son of Hephaestus let his eyes wander in the room, almost scanning the place with his gaze in a hurried attempt to find the oiled tartlet, looking at each piece of furniture, at each night table, at each bed. When he didn't find anything he couldn't really differ whether if a knot seemed to tighten in his chest or to free itself.

It wasn't until he turned around that he found his one blind spot, the only place in the cabin that had escaped his inspection.

There, in the middle of his work-table, surrounded by tools, screws, wires and robots gone wrong stood the oiled decorated piece of… whatever it was —funny, almost a decade after having woken up each year to find that he was still not sure whether or not if it was an actual tire or not. Where did he even got the material to do those things either way?—, neatly placed showing under the lamp Leo had left on without noticing the previous night.

He was still standing next to the table, unsure if to reach for the bronze plate or not when Jake walked up to him, saying something about a repair that had to be done to Iris' cabin, but he felt silent when he walked up to Leo to pat him in the back, his eyes caught on the same spot that Leo's own.

"Man, is it your birthday?" Jake asked immediately. "Why hadn't you said anything?"

' _Because I totally forgot_ ', Leo thought but decided against saying anything.

"Gods, I get it, Dad is feeling special again" Jake continued, rolling his eyes and grinning. "Someone should really tell him that he should send tools rather than desserts. If you can't cook you can't cook and that's that, right?"

However, Leo lost his brother's rambling more or less in the third or fourth word. _Dad_ he'd said? Hold your bronze bulls, Leo, he thought, did that mean that _Hephaestus_ was the one who had been behind those mysterious appearances every year?

And suddenly, it all made sense, pieces that had been missing suddenly fell in its place almost too fast for him to notice them as they came to sense, became _full_.

If that November the second he in fact sent a bigger piece of his meal to his father and mentally thanked him more than he'd like to admit aloud for that silence presence that he'd been unconscious for so long, then no one really needed to know that but his father and he.

And really, it had been something between his father and him from the very beginning.

* * *

 **Did you catch what I was talking about when I said Latin holidays?**

 **Here we are! You see, while writing this I searched for Leo's actual birthday, but apparently, uncle Rick was mean and decided to not give him one, which meant that I had to cut my mind into tiny little pieces until I found the perfect day, because Leo deserved a birthday. You see, I'm kind of supersticious, so what I checked first was a zodial sign (it's not as if I storaged those and pasted them on a notebook. Duh!) And after roaming the pages for a while, I decided that Leo should be a Scorpio (my sister insited in having him be a Leo, but that sounded stupid).**

 **Scorpios arre often described as passionate, stubborn and have great self-control. They also have a hard time forgiving and forgetting. Theire lucky number is nine. Their animal is teh dragon and are often related with death. (See?, I had a hard time giving him a birthday!)**

 **Anyways, Scorpios are born between October 23 and November 21, which obviously meant that my day needed to be between those. I decided to have it in November because Halloween is already in October, so... But this is not all. As some of you already know, I'm not an English native speaker, I'm Mexican, and if you hadn't noticed until now, I have a lot of fun when working with Leo or with any Latin because it gives me the opportunity to mix a little of my own culture into the story, like, for example having them speak a couple of Spanish words or, like in this case, giving you a glimpse of teh traditions I was raised in.**

 **In Mexico during November 2 we celebrate " _Día de Muertos_ " (the Day of the Dead), and during this day we honor our lost ones by putting them altars for them with their favorite food and a other important items, like candles, water and _cempasúchil_ (marigold, a type of flower. Its name in _náhutl_ (a native dialect) means "a thousand petals"). Originally, the families spent the whole night sitting by loved's grave, now that's not as common nowadays. It's not a sad day, but a happy one, as we believe that the spirit of our loved ones come to visit us and spend the night with us, that is why we leave their favorite foods and candies for them to eat.**

 **So, while working on the day I decided to do it on this speacial one, a friend thought it wa stoo cruel to have Leo mourn his mother in the same day of his nirthday, but I decided that this could be a good reason as to why Rosa rejected his nephew by calling him a devil from the biginning.**

 **Naver mind, this is the story of Karen Hikari and the Quest for Leo's Birthday. If you are interested in knowing anything else about the _Día de Muertos_ , feel free to comment and ask me! ;)**

 **This is how we reach the end. What's your opinion about this story? Please comment and vote!**

 **Read you soon! ;)**


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